Three of a Kind
by Photogirl1890
Summary: Three ficlets - Paris & Kim, Tuvok & Neelix, EMH & Seven - written to prompts.
1. Stage Fright

**Three of a Kind**

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount/CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rated T

A/N: I've always found the thought of writing to a prompt with a strict deadline to be hugely intimidating. After this 'writing experiment', I now only find it moderately intimidating, and, as a bonus, I've written some POVs and, um, subject matter (see #2...) that I doubt I would have tackled prompt-less.

My extremely grateful thanks to **Delwin **for not only throwing me over these three prompts, but then beta-ing the resultant ficlets.

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First Line: "I'm guessing this wasn't part of the plan?"  
Pairing: Kim with Paris, Torres or another character of the author's choice.

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**Stage Fright**

"I'm guessing this wasn't part of the plan?"

Harry answered Tom's question with a rhetorical one of his own, which he delivered with a mixture of self-depreciation and a blatant lack of approval at his friend's cheerfulness in the face of imminent disaster. "Was it in the plan for me to look like an idiot in front of her? Of course it wasn't."

The two men watched – Harry in horror, and Tom in open-mouthed fascination – as, far across the holographic theatre on its otherwise empty stage, Neelix unpacked the separate sections of what was, apparently, a large musical instrument from a metal trunk. The Talaxian grinned as he began to fit the pieces together to make a long, coiled tube that looked something akin to a didgeridoo crossed with a tuba.

"Didn't you tell him there was no …" Tom turned to his friend. "What's that thing called?"

"He says it's a Talaxian bugle." Harry almost choked on the words.

"Didn't you tell him there was no Talaxian bugle part in, um … ?"

"Copland's Clarinet Concerto," Harry finished impatiently. "I tried. I told him there'd be holographic musicians for all the other parts that were needed, and there isn't even a brass section. But he says that once the music starts, he'll be able to improvise. It's some Talaxian tradition with that instrument."

Shaking his head, Harry knew that he only had himself to blame. If he'd kept his big mouth shut, this situation would never have arisen. But he'd made the mistake of expressing to Neelix that he was nervous about performing in the upcoming talent night, and the self-appointed morale officer had immediately insisted on accompanying Harry on stage. In Neelix's own words, he would be Harry's 'wingman'. Snorting as he recalled the conversation, Harry concluded that Neelix's involvement in this debacle would result in him providing Harry with completely the opposite service than that which a 'wingman' should provide. And from where had Neelix even heard the term 'wingman'?

Tom, unusually, seemed at a loss for words, merely continuing to watch Neelix fuss over his instrument.

"Can you imagine what it's going to sound like?" said Harry, consciously keeping his voice low, but unable to keep the agitation from creeping in. Several other _Voyager _crewmen were scattered around in small groups, discussing their plans for the show, or just hoping to get a preview of the upcoming acts. To one side, Chell stood spellbound by Pablo Baytart's juggling prowess as the pilot rehearsed. "It's her favourite piece of music," Harry continued, "and she'll never be able to listen to it again without remembering how I ruined it for her…" Harry subtly tipped his head towards the oblivious Neelix. "… with that. The piece is twenty minutes long. It'll be torture."

He was seriously regretting not taking up Nicoletti's offer to join him in a duet, to play one of the old standards that they'd often practised together. Instead, he'd asked her to make some covert enquiries regarding the quieter Delaney sister's favourite music. How he'd never gotten around to asking Megan himself was confounding. But he never had, and, for the plan he'd had in mind to work out, he needed to know.

The result of Nicoletti's enquiries had surprised Harry greatly. He'd been expecting her to come back with something more modern – certainly something less obscure. And in all honesty, he'd hoped for something a little less demanding. But with the knowledge that Megan clearly liked the sound of the clarinet – his specialist instrument – how could he not make the effort to learn the piece she liked best?

Tom frowned, biting his lip as he considered his response to Harry's fretting. What he came up with was clearly _meant_ to be consoling. "To be fair, Harry," Tom said, "she'll probably just think of Neelix whenever she listens to it again, not you."

"But, exactly," Harry hissed. "I've put weeks of effort in to this. And it's not as simple as just trying to impress her. I thought … I know it sounds kind of stupid when I say it out loud, but I thought that, if I could make it so that she associates _me _with this piece that she loves listening to, then … you know?"

Tom smirked. "Every time she hears it she'll think about what nimble fingers you have and wonder what else you can do with them?"

Harry shot him a glare, though to be honest Tom wasn't far off the mark, even if Harry himself wouldn't have phrased it quite so indelicately. As Harry turned back to see Neelix finish his construction task, the Talaxian caught his eye and waved. Harry gritted his teeth and raised a listless hand in reply. Tom waved back more eagerly. A little too eagerly in Harry's estimation.

"This isn't funny, Tom," Harry chided under his breath.

"So, what are you going to do then?" Tom's voice took on a more serious tone as he gauged that the alarm on Harry's features was turning to unadulterated panic. "I could speak to him for you," Tom offered. "Explain that it's a delicate situation."

"No. I should be able to handle this myself."

"Then just tell him outright. He can't play that … thing. Tell him you're not nervous anymore. There's no crisis of confidence with you for him to fix."

"I don't know if that'll work now. Look how enthusiastic he's getting over the thing."

Neelix had begun to polish the 'bugle', and his humming had carried about the room, drawing curious onlookers to crowd in around him. Even Chell and Baytart had gone to investigate.

Tom's eyes widened. "Did you tell her that you're playing this piece tonight?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't want to tell her myself. I was hoping it would be a surprise when the music started."

"Then you can back out," Tom said. "No harm done."

"But I think the line-up was announced on _Good Morning with Neelix._"

"But Neelix didn't know the specifics, did he? Like the name of the composer? Megan won't know you were going to play her favourite piece."

"No. I guess I could come up with some excuse to get out of playing," Harry said, thinking quickly. "Maybe some problem in astrometrics. Though, I don't want to let Neelix down by leaving him with an empty spot to fill."

Tom stifled a laugh. "But your replacement is warming up over there."

"Right. That could work." Harry's face brightened. "Neelix gets to play – and take the limelight, Megan doesn't have to suffer through her favourite piece of music getting ruined, and I manage to come away without looking stupid."

"Although…"

"What?"

"You could still play, just not the piece you've prepared. Something else from your repertoire. Neelix will be none the wiser. If he's going to improvise, it won't matter a bit to him."

"Then, I'll still come out of this looking like an ass."

"Pick something short. How about Chopin's minute waltz?"

"That's for the piano."

"See the funny side, Harry. The point of talent night isn't just to show off, it's to make people laugh and to give them something to talk about other than the usual old routine."

Something prickled at Harry's memory at that, a recollection of an old Earth composer who'd written an experimental piece intended to last four minutes, thirty three seconds with the performers _not_ playing. The audience would hear only ambient noise. Could that work? It would certainly be different. It couldn't make Harry look any sillier than he would playing any of Earth's musical classics with Neelix improvising alongside. He managed half a smile at the thought of the bewilderment that would cause. As for filling the rest of his twenty minute slot, maybe he could find out if Nicoletti was still available. And there was always Chell with his Bolian nose flute. Perhaps Naomi Wildman would play the triangle and complete the farce. Harry ran a hand across his face. As a senior officer, it really wouldn't be right for him to cut and run. He had to salvage the situation as best he could.

Tom tried to point out the positives. "Maybe, see this as a sign. You've been too subtle for too long. If you like Megan that much, it's about time you took a more direct approach. Less subliminal messaging, more … giant billboard."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And what do you suggest, exactly?"

"I'll think of something," said Tom, confidently clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Just because I'm with B'Elanna now, doesn't mean I can't still be your wingman."

Shuddering at Tom's word choice, Harry turned away from the hubbub across the room and sighed to himself. One thing was for sure: today, he had certainly found a new meaning to the term 'stage fright'.


	2. Spring Fever

First line: "Think of it as _pon farr_...except for Talaxians."  
Pairing: Neelix with the EMH, Tuvok or other character of the author's choice.**  
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**Spring Fever (aka The Perils of Sightseeing in the Delta Quadrant)**

"Think of it as _pon farr ._.. except for Talaxians."

Tuvok looked up from his PADD and raised a sceptical eyebrow at Neelix's pronouncement. The Talaxian stood – 'jogged on the spot' was perhaps a more accurate description – across the desk from Tuvok in the security chief's office. Whilst Tuvok did not experience embarrassment, this task that the Captain had bestowed upon him was not proving to be an easy one. "Mr. Neelix," Tuvok intoned, "that is not an appropriate comparison for you to make. I do not believe that your recent behaviour is the result of … a neurochemical imbalance."

Since Ensign Vorik's very public affliction, knowledge of Vulcan mating practices had spread throughout the _Voyager_'s crew. The number of searches made against the topic in the Starfleet medical database had increased by six hundred and three percent over the past year. Tuvok found this most intrusive.

"Oh, but it's a well-known phenomenon, Mr. Tuvok," said Neelix, wringing his hands together in time with the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other. "Something in the spring air makes us Talaxians feel wonderfully frisky."

Tuvok set down the PADD and released a small sigh. "There is no 'spring air' on _Voyager_, Mr. Neelix."

"And that must be why this hasn't happened to me before in the time that we've known each other. But it was springtime on that planet we stopped off at last week. At least it was on the continent that I visited with the away team." Neelix finally stilled as his face took on a wistful expression. "We had a lovely time. You should have seen the young animals frolicking in the meadows and the fluorescent blossom on the trees. The swamps were brimming with tadpoles … it made me feel ten years younger." Bringing his focus back to Tuvok, the Talaxian continued, "So, I do have a lot of raw energy to burn off now. It was Mr. Paris that suggested I spend some time on the holodeck. He even helped me pick out which programs I might run."

Tuvok was unsurprised to hear that Tom Paris had played some part in this affair. Tuvok had a better suggestion for dealing with Neelix's resurgent urges. "Perhaps you should visit the Doctor. He may be able to prescribe something to … calm your ardour," Tuvok said.

Neelix began to fidget once more. "Oh, it will pass of its own accord in a few days. It always does. And in the meantime," Neelix grinned, "I'll enjoy myself."

"Then you have more holodeck time scheduled?" Tuvok could have checked that before calling this meeting. He _should_ have reviewed the holodeck reservation schedule, but he had, quite simply, forgotten. The prospect of dealing with Neelix today had perturbed Tuvok more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

Neelix nodded. "I do have an hour booked for tomorrow afternoon in holodeck two. I thought I'd try one of the Bolian programs next. It's called –"

"There is no need to go into details," Tuvok cut in. "I only need your assurance that you will remember to engage the privacy lock any time that you run a program of a … personal nature."

Captain Janeway believed that Neelix's admonishment would be best coming from Tuvok rather than herself or Commander Chakotay. Neelix considered Tuvok a close friend, and, as the issue was of a sensitive nature, she believed that a discussion with Tuvok would cause the Talaxian less embarrassment than would a dressing down from herself or Chakotay. Tuvok did not entirely believe the Captain's excuse for not dealing with Neelix herself.

Finally seeming to gather that he'd been called to Tuvok's office for a reprimand, rather than for a casual chat, some of the exuberance receded from Neelix's spotted features. "I am sorry, Mr. Tuvok," he said seriously, "but there's really no harm been done, has there?"

Tuvok disagreed. "Crewman Telfer reported feeling light-headed after he unwittingly interrupted your activities yesterday." The young human had misread the program descriptor outside holodeck one, thinking that the program running was the Paxau Resort simulation that many of the crew enjoyed together.

"Billy's always feeling unwell. Though I'll admit that it was extremely hot in the Paxian spa, and the strobe lights can be overwhelming at first."

"And last night, Ensign Jenkins –"

"Felt queasy, I know," Neelix said, raising a hand to run it across his forehead. "The lubricating oils that my Sikarian companion was using are a little pungent by human standards."

In the Talaxian's defence, that particular program had been designated '_Alpha-Neelix-triple-chi'_ (no doubt by Lieutenant Paris), and Jenkins could have used a little more intuition before she'd proceeded to walk on in. But that was beside the point. Tuvok continued onto the last charge on Neelix's 'rap sheet'. "And, shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Torres interrupted an important meeting between Captain Janeway and myself to report that you had, for a third time, left the holodeck doors unlocked when running what should have most definitely been a private holodeck program. The language that Lieutenant Torres used to describe what she encountered was quite colourful. She said she heard noises that suggested you were in some kind of distress and felt compelled to investigate further. Rather than finding you unwell as expected, she said she instead found you quite … satisfied."

"Ah, well, the Nausicaan program was a little adventurous … And B'Elanna's timing was … unfortunate, I suppose."

Tuvok decided to change tactics. "Does it not concern you that three crew members have now observed you in … delicate circumstances?"

Neelix frowned, stilling again and dropping his hands to his sides. "Well, actually, no. Not really. Though I will concede that perhaps my judgement has been impaired a little of late. I'm not feeling as logical as usual. Hence my earlier comparison. You understand, don't you?"

Tuvok declined to respond.

"But a healthy appetite for romantic liaisons is nothing to be ashamed of," Neelix went on. "Crewman Chell has expressed an interest in joining me when I run the next program, in fact."

Tuvok's eyebrows shot up, and he had to work inordinately hard to school his features from breaking out of their rigid impassivity. "Then let us hope that between the two of you, one of you will remember to lock the doors."

Tuvok had nothing further to add. In truth, he was keen to end this discussion as soon as possible. He replayed the conversation in his mind, assuring himself that he had done everything Captain Janeway had asked of him. When tomorrow afternoon came, Tuvok would ensure he had cause to walk by holodeck two. If he discovered that the privacy seal was not engaged, as security chief he had the authority to seal the doors himself. And he would – with a welding torch, perhaps. He nodded once, keyed on his computer terminal in preparation for his next more routine task, and set his eyes to the screen.

"That is all, Mr. Neelix. You may go now," Tuvok said, glancing up briefly.

Neelix seemed to want to say something. He made no progress towards the door.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Was there something you wished to add?"

"Well … I do hope we're still friends, Mr. Tuvok," Neelix said solemnly. "I don't like to think of you being cross with me."

"I am not cross, Mr. Neelix. I am merely asking you not to repeat your lack of discretion, so that no offense is caused to other members of the crew."

"Then I haven't offended you? With my comment about _pon farr_, only … I think I know you well enough by now to read your moods, and –"

"I have no moods for you to read," Tuvok said sharply. That wasn't strictly true, though Tuvok didn't consider the statement an outright lie. "But I am very busy. I'm sure you must be too."

Neelix's eyes widened. "I do have that birthday cake to finish for Ensign Baytart." And with that, he finally made to leave, hopefully straight back to his galley.

If he were human, Tuvok would now have been heaving a sigh of relief. But he wasn't, of course, so he merely began to read from the screen in front of him: a welcome display of mundane report summaries and diagnostic schedules.

"But, Mr. Tuvok?" Neelix called as the office doors hissed open. "You're always welcome to join us tomorrow. If the mood takes you."

Tuvok waited for the doors to close, before he did, in fact, sigh heavily, trying to ignore the mental imagery that the proposition conjured. He made a note to advise the Captain and Commander Chakotay that they might wish to consider the seasonal conditions at any landing site before Neelix was assigned to future away missions. This had been one meeting that Tuvok did not _ever_ want to have to repeat.


	3. Offense with Weapons

First line: "I believe the appropriate phrase would be, 'Foiled again.'"  
Pairing: Either EMH or Seven with the character or characters of the author's choice.

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**Offense With Weapons**

"I believe the appropriate phrase would be, 'Foiled again.'"

The EMH pulled off his fencing mask to stare at the woman who had uttered those words. His student. Seven of Nine raised an eyebrow, meeting his stare with one of her own.

Unable to decide whether to be pleased at Seven's word play (he'd been trying hard to expand her use of vernacular), or aghast at the tone she'd used (which was brusque, even for her), the Doctor's behavioural subroutines executed a high-speed calculation. As a result, his emotional output algorithms prioritised the latter of those two options. Feeling wounded, he frowned. "That is _not_ an appropriate phrase to use in this instance, Seven," the Doctor admonished. "Remember the purpose of this lesson was for you to practise offering support to friends or colleagues when they engage in competitive activities, not to practise mocking them if they should happen to lo- … finish second. You were supposed to be cheering me on."

"You were clearly outmatched," Seven countered. "My cheering you on would not have affected the outcome."

"It might have," the Doctor argued. "Cheering supporters give the competitor a psychological boost. The phenomenon is well-documented."

Seven looked to the Doctor's holographic opponent. It stood masked and motionless waiting for the Doctor to signal his readiness to continue. "You have lost to this same adversary three times in a row," Seven recapped superfluously. "His reaction speed far exceeds your own. That is unlikely to change unless I make an adjustment to your program."

"Which makes your vocal support all the more necessary," the Doctor exclaimed with frustration.

If he were being honest, he had had ulterior motives when he'd proposed this lesson. As well as teaching Seven to offer moral support to her peers, he'd intended their session on the holodeck to be an opportunity to teach her about offering praise. He hadn't intended to 'show-off' with his fencing prowess, but he had wanted to impress her with sequential victories. The demonstration had not gone at all to plan. He should have had a trial run with this particular opponent before going up against him in front of an audience. He shouldn't have overestimated his own abilities.

In any case, the session was fast coming to a close. In a few minutes, this holodeck would echo with the sound of 'rayguns' and 'destructo beams'. The Doctor had to get back to sickbay in good time, or Mr. Paris would whine just like those ridiculous fictional weapons.

"Computer, end program," the Doctor called. The holographic simulation of the 2368 Olympic fencing venue dematerialised along with the Doctor's fencing attire and the weapon that had been in his right hand. "We'll revisit this topic," he told Seven evenly, brightening as he had an idea. "I'm thinking golf might be appropriate for next time."

"Perhaps you might consider a musical theme in future," Seven said, moving briskly towards the doors. "As you know, I do have an interest in music."

"But this isn't about your enjoyment, Seven," the Doctor explained wearily as the doors hissed open in front of them. "Sometimes we have to show enthusiasm for pastimes that other people enjoy, even if we find them to be tedious."

Seven exited into the corridor, pausing to let the Doctor catch up. "Then it is fortunate that you are medically qualified," she remarked to the Doctor's confusion, elucidating with another quirk of an eyebrow, "so that you can revive me when I am bored to death."

She turned on her heel leaving him standing there, slack-jawed. At that point, he concluded definitively that Seven's vocabulary was quite extensive enough and that he should prioritise the teaching of 'offering simple courtesy' over encouraging her to offer support or praise. Back to basics was the way to proceed if he didn't wish to be on the receiving end of Seven's rapier-sharp tongue again.

The Doctor, at least, had learned his lesson.


End file.
